


Just Don't Burn the Dorm Down

by PrinceSnoozy



Category: Persona 3
Genre: Bad Cooking, Canon Compliant, Canon Era, Cooking, Cooking Lessons, Coughing, Gen, Platonic Female/Male Relationships, Platonic Relationships, cooking time with chef Shinji, impending death mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-13
Updated: 2016-05-13
Packaged: 2018-06-08 04:14:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6838612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrinceSnoozy/pseuds/PrinceSnoozy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Minato is sick with his September cold and Shinjiro finds Fuuka trying to cook him some soup, then gets roped into cooking lessons.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just Don't Burn the Dorm Down

**Author's Note:**

> This is an old work from my Tumblr. It takes place during the FES version of the game since there wasn't really a "cooking with Fuuka" event like in P3P.

**_September 20, 2009_ **

The early-afternoon sun filters through half-closed curtains into a second-floor dorm room. A groggy Shinjiro turns over in his bed and blinks at the bright light, mildly confused for a moment. He sits up and rubs his eyes, then looks out the window again.

_Oh, it’s Sunday. The typhoon must be gone by now._

A shiver runs down his back and he starts coughing, clutching at his chest. The hacking cough continues for a good twenty seconds, leaving Shinjiro winded and pained when it passes.

“Dammit…” he mumbles.

He exits into the hallway within a few minutes, clad in his usual warm clothing. He glances once at the door at the end of the hall, staring with narrow eyes, then turns and heads down the stairs. Even before reaching the bottom, he’s met with an alarming scream and… smell?

“Oh no! What do I do???”

Wrinkling his nose, he steps around the glass separator and stares into the kitchen, eyes slightly widened.

“Fuuka…. what are you doing…?” he asks cautiously.

“Oh, Shinjiro-senpai!” Fuuka exclaims, spinning around holding a large spoon, a pillar of grey-brown smoke rising up from a pot behind her. “I was just making Minato-kun some miso soup, since he still seems really sick.”

Shinjiro glances once at the smoke rising from the pot, then back to Fuuka’s proud and smiling face.

“You sure that’s what you were makin’…?” he asks, narrowing his eyes at her.

“Well, I mean, the miso paste got stuck to the bottom of the pan and the broth looks a bit too thick, but it should be okay, right?”

Shinjiro’s mouth falls open slightly, his expression dumbfounded. He lets out a hiss through clenched teeth and walks over to the stove, staring near-horrified into the pot of goo she called “miso soup.”

“…Just how much miso did you use?” he asks, staring at her through the corner of his eyes.

“Oh, I didn’t really measure it,” Fuuka replies, looking to the side in thought. “A cup? Two cups?”

Shinjiro looks to the counter, where an opened package of miso paste lays half-empty.

“…was that a new package?” he asks warily.

“Oh, yes! I wanted to use fresh ingredients, and the miso paste we had was a bit old, so I didn’t want to risk it.”

Shinjiro says nothing, simply staring at his underclassman and the mess on the stove.

_There is so much wrong here…_

“Fuuka…” he sighs, rubbing his eyes like he did when he awoke minutes ago.

“Yes, Shinjiro-senpai?” she responds cheerfully.

“Okay, first, Shinjiro is fine, drop the senpai shit, and second, why didn’t you just pick him up an instant miso cup from the corner store?”

“Oh, uh… I just wanted to do something for him since…”

She shuffles her hands a bit, clutching sheepishly at the spoon. Shinjiro raises an eyebrow, his mouth gaping a bit.

“Since… what?” he presses, though he has a feeling he knows the answer already.

“Since I can’t… you know… fight like you and everyone else can…” She looks down at her feet, her hands clasped around the spoon.

Shinjiro sighs again, placing his hand on the front of his beanie to move it down a bit, his own gaze downcast as well. He stays silent for a moment, mulling over some options in his head before speaking again.

“Hey…” he mumbles, his eyes hidden by the shadow of his hair and beanie. “You have extra ingredients, right…?”

“Huh?” Fuuka gasps and looks up at him, a bit startled. “Yes, I always buy extra of everything just in case!”

“Hm…” he hums, glancing around at the spread of ingredients on the counter. “Let’s clean this up, then I’ll walk you through it, since miso soup is kind of simple anyway.”

“Really?!” she gasps. “You’ll really teach me how to make it?!”

“….Yeah. Now let’s get rid of this waste of food and start over.”

* * *

After cleaning up the nasty goo that had all but eaten the pot, the two stand in the kitchen, both in aprons, with clean cooking tools and an awkward silence. Pre-measured ingredients lay around the counter in small bowls, while cubed tofu and chopped scallions lay on a nearby cutting board.

“Okay…” Shinjiro sighs, rolling up the sleeves on his sweater. “Put four cups of water in the pan and then whisk in the dashi with that… whisk. And make sure the stove is on, too.”

“Okay, got it!” Fuuka replies, determined, reaching for the controls on the stove and turning them to the highest setting.

“No, use medium-high heat!” Shinjiro exclaims, reaching for the knob and turning it to the level marked with a 6. “Are you trying to burn it again?!”

“Oh, I thought it would cook faster that way…”

“There’s different heat settings for a reason!”

“Oh…. I’m sorry…”

Shinjiro sighs, reaching for the bowl with the dashi in it, no more than a few teaspoons, and dumps it into the pan while pouring in the water with his free hand. He grabs the whisk from the counter and hands it to her, stepping back from the stove. She whisks it a bit clumsily, but thanks to the heat the mixture blends nicely.

“Okay, now what?” Fuuka asks, reaching into her pocket for a memo pad.

“Put that away,” Shinjiro growls, glaring down at the notepad. “You need to have your full attention on what you’re cooking, or else you’ll burn it again.”

“Oh… okay…” she replies sheepishly, putting the memo pad back into her apron pocket. “So, what’s our next step?”

“We wait for it to boil, then put in the miso paste, the **three tablespoons** of miso paste.”

“That doesn’t look like it’s going to be enough….”

“Anymore than that and you’ll end up with that mystery goo I found trying to crawl out of the pan earlier.”

“Oh, I guess you’re right.”

“I know I’m right.” He looks at the pot, where the dashi broth is boiling. “Okay, put in the miso now.”

“I use the whisk again, right?”

“Yeah, but be caref–”

Too late. In her haste, Fuuka causes some of the boiling broth to splash out onto the stove and onto her own hand. 

“Ow…!” she cringes, holding her hand and dropping the whisk at the same time.

“Goddammit!” Shinjiro growls, sliding past her and to the pot, grabbing a towel hanging on a hook by the stove. “Get over to the sink, now!”

“Okay…” she whimpers, clutching her wrist.

“Turn the water to warm,” he orders, grabbing the whisk and stirring the rest of the miso into the boiling mixture. “Run it over the burn, and then–”

The door to the lounge opens suddenly and Shinjiro freezes in place.

“Hey, Shinji, what smells so good?” Akihiko’s voice echoes in the empty lounge, as well as the sound of his jacket hitting the couch.

_Oh, it’s just Aki._

“It’s not for you, if that’s what you’re expectin’,” Shinjiro mutters, just loud enough for Akihiko to hear him.

“But I just went for a five-mile run, I could use the recharge.”

“It’s still not for you, you’ll just put that nasty protein shit in it and ruin it.”

“But if I don’t supplement my protein intake within thirty minutes, then–”

“Will you shut up?!” Shinjiro turns suddenly and grabs Akihiko’s shirt. “I don’t give a shit about your protein intake right now.”

“Oh, so you wanna have a sparring match in the kitchen?” Akihiko smirks.

“Hell no!” Shinjiro drops the cheeky boy and points toward Fuuka. “She got burned by some boiling water, she needs ointment.”

“But I’m hungry, and it looks like you have enough there for four people, so…”

Shinjiro sighs and goes back to the stove, turning the knob down to the value marked with a 5.

“Fine, if you treat her burn while I keep an eye on this, then you can have some.”

“Yes!” Akihiko punches the air happily and takes Fuuka to where they keep their first aid supplies, leaving Shinjiro to watch the stove.

* * *

Fuuka returns with Akihiko, her hand wrapped lightly with gauze, to Shinjiro stirring tofu into the pan. Her eyes downcast, she shuffles with her apron.

“I’m sorry…” she mumbles, her posture slouched in shame.

“Just be more careful next time,” he mutters back, glancing over his shoulder as Akihiko sits down at the table behind the pair. “It’s not like you missed much, I’m just putting in the tofu.”

“Okay… so what now?”

“Now, carefully separate the layers on those onions. That burn you got shouldn’t be too bad, but it’ll still hurt like hell.”

“Ow…” she winces when she moves her hand a little bit. “You’re right.”

“Yeah, so just take it easy. I’ll handle the stirring since it was your dominant hand, so just watch me carefully, okay?”

“Okay, I understand.”

“Good.”

After adding the onions and some kelp, Shinjiro directs Fuuka to put a lid on the pan and lower the temperature to the 3 setting. While she does so, he reaches in his coat pocket where he draped it on a chair, shuffles his hand around, then does the same in the other pocket, and freezes in place. Akihiko, sitting across from the coat, raises an eyebrow and stares quizzically at his friend.

“What’s wrong, Shinji?” he asks, a slight smirk on his face. “Lose something?”

“Uh….kinda…” Shinjiro mutters back, casting his eyes to the side to stare at the floor.

_Did I drop it somewhere….?_

Standing back up fully, he turns his gaze on Fuuka in the kitchen.

“Hey, Fuuka, you got a cellphone, right?”

“Uh, yes!” she replies, turning around to face him.

“…Does it have a timer on it anywhere?”

“I think so…”

“Good, set a timer on it for three minutes. And keep an eye on the pot so it doesn’t boil over.”

“Yes, sir!”

“Tch…”

Shinjiro approaches the kitchen again, but catches Akihiko staring at him out of his peripheral view. He turns his head toward his sitting friend, eyes narrowed.

“…What?” he snaps, meeting the stare with a glare.

“Nothing…” Akihiko replies, a solemn tone coating his voice.

He stares a bit more intently at the other boy, then, with a huff, makes his way back to the kitchen.

* * *

“Alright, dig in.”

At Shinjiro’s command, Fuuka and Akihiko start on their own servings of the soup.

“Wow, it’s really good!” Fuuka exclaims, genuinely surprised.

“Amazing what happens when you actually make it right, ain’t it?” Shinjiro replies, sipping at his bowl of soup as well.

“It’s just too bad that Minato is still fast asleep, I think he would’ve enjoyed it.”

“We’ll just make some more when he wakes up, it’s not like it takes that long.”

The three eat in silence for a few moments, before someone chimes in and breaks it.

“This is okay for a quick snack,” Akihiko says, “but I would’ve loved for there to be some rice and meat with this.”

“…it wasn’t even going to be for you, Aki,” Shinjiro growls. “You’re lucky we made extra, or you’d starve.”

“Hey, you said you’d give me some if I helped Fuuka! And I did!”

“I could’ve been lying and said there was enough just to shut you up.”

“That’s mean, Shinji.”

“Who said I was nice– hey! What are you doing?!”

Akihiko holds a canister of powder with the words “soy protein” printed on the label.

“I was just going to–”

“ _ **LIKE HELL YOU ARE!** _ There’s extra tofu in yours, it’s got more than enough protein in it!”

“Yeah, but the more protein I have, the stronger I get, right?”

“Oh, yeah, sure, and your kidneys will be cursin’ the shit out of you when you overdo it like that.”

“Hey, I do this all the time and I’m still fine!”

“That’s not what I mean, you dipshit!”

“You’re one to talk, when you–”

The two continue bickering as Fuuka enjoys the small meal she helped to make, and as the afternoon turned to evening, she reflects on the new side she saw in her aloof upperclassmen, and smiles.


End file.
